Murder at Birchwood Pond

by Jade Astor

  “That rings a bell.” Darian recalled seeing such a book displayed in the Birchwood library along with a few other titles by the same author.

  “It’s getting wonderful reviews, for which I will unashamedly take partial credit,” Everett went on. “You see, Quin is the most successful of the many students I’ve taught over the years. Nice to know that at least one person was paying attention.”

  “So you’re a Birchwood alum as well as a trustee,” Darian said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “He certainly is,” Patricia supplied. “Probably the most famous one who’s still alive.”

  “Thank you for making me feel so young,” Quin Fisher said, arching a brow in her direction. He turned to Darian. “As for sitting on the Board of Trustees, that’s due less to my superior merit than my genetics. My father was the headmaster back in the day, so those Birchwood tentacles grip me by both ankles. I still live nearby and do a convocation or a graduation speech now and then. Yes, that’s every bit as tedious and boring as it sounds.”

  “Have you taught at Birchwood, too?” Darian asked.

  “No. I’m afraid I discovered early on that teaching was not for me. My talents lie in a different direction.”

  “Certainly not marriage,” Patricia said, laughing.

  “Indeed not.” Quin raised his ringless left hand and turned it slowly in a royal wave. “Two divorces to show for it. I’m not complaining, though. The need for royalties to pay off my ex-wives is what keeps me writing.”

  “We’re just heading into town for lunch,” Everett told him. “Care to come along?”

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Quin replied.

  “Come and ride with me and Aaron,” Everett said. “There won’t be enough parking downtown if we all take our cars. Do you want a lift, too, Darian?”

  “No thanks. I’ll take my own car,” Darian said. After the morning he’d had, he suspected he might prefer to get away as soon as he’d eaten. Besides, he suspected that Everett’s invitation was motivated less by generosity and more from a desire to grill Darian about his interview with Argo.

  Driving in three separate cars, the five of them headed downtown to Jake and Patricia’s restaurant. Thankfully, it wasn’t crowded, despite it being just after noon on a Friday, and Darian found an unmetered parking spot a bit further along the main street. He walked back to join the others and found Patricia already at a large round table at the back of the dining room for them. She waved when he came in, closely followed by Everett, Aaron, and Quin.

  As they took their seats, Jake himself emerged from the kitchen to greet them. Darian had met Patricia’s husband a few times before, both here when he’d come in for lunch with his colleagues and once at an outdoor faculty gathering to kick off the academic year. He was a broad-shouldered man in his thirties, clearly a few years younger than Patricia, with dark curly hair and thick, lowset eyebrows that gave him a defiant expression. Though Into the Wood presented itself as a casual-dining establishment, today he wore a black chef’s outfit without the toque. Darian supposed it helped get him into the mood to cook as well as distinguishing him from the rest of the waitstaff, who wore button-down red shirts embroidered with the restaurant’s name on the chest. At the moment, the two on duty were busy with other tables.

  “I heard about what happened at the school this morning.” He placed a hand on Patricia’s shoulder, but addressed the entire group. “The drowning’s already all over the local news, according to the customers. Poor kid, huh?”

  “Horrific,” said Patricia almost gleefully. “Especially for Darian. He found the body floating in the water.”

  “What?” Jake’s mouth fell open. “Jeez, that’s rough. Let me get everyone some coffee. Bet you could all use some. Especially you, Darian.”

  “No argument there.” Darian glanced over at Aaron, who sat beside him turning green. “Better bring Aaron some, too. With extra sugar for his. It’ll help, Aaron. I promise.”

  “Sure thing.” Jake hurried away.

  “Sorry,” Aaron said, swallowing. “It’s just that I’ve never…you know. He was in my class.”

  “Of course, dear.” Everett patted Aaron’s hand theatrically. “You’ve had a terrible shock. We understand.”

  “Were you down at the pond earlier?” Patricia asked. “I looked around for you, but I didn’t see you.”

  Aaron didn’t answer, and soon Jake returned with a pot of French Roast that smelled fresh and delicious. “Do they know what happened yet?” he asked as he filled their coffee cups. He dropped a few sugar packets next to Aaron’s saucer. “I suppose the kid slipped and fell in?”

  “Not unless he was taking a walk in the nude,” Patricia said, causing her husband’s heavy brows to climb halfway to his hairline. “And if the cops do know, they sure haven’t enlightened us.”

  “I wonder what happened to his clothes,” Everett mused. He watched as Aaron Macklin added an entire packet of sugar, took a deep gulp of his coffee, and winced. “Did you see them lying on the shore when you found him, Darian?”

  Darian decided not to repeat what Argo Sullivan had told him about finding the clothes, but no towel, inside the stone shelter. Argo hadn’t sworn him to secrecy, but he wasn’t sure if that discovery had become common knowledge yet and he wasn’t in the mood to be the faculty liaison with the cops. “No. But then, I didn’t really look.”

  “Hidden in the bushes, most likely. Timothy was a snappy dresser, so he would have tucked them away for safekeeping. I suppose the cops will locate them eventually.”

  Darian nodded absently. Like Argo Sullivan, he found the absence of a towel perplexing. Timothy did take great care with his appearance, and his clothes always looked expensive. It seemed unlikely that he would have used his shirt or sweater to wipe his sky dry, nor would he have put them back on while he was still grimy with pond water.

  Of course, there could be a simple explanation. Timothy’s plunge into the water might have been spontaneous—a dare, as someone had suggested earlier. Maybe he had dropped the towel elsewhere, and Argo’s men just hadn’t found it yet. Or maybe Argo had been lying in an attempt to trip Darian up. Cops did that all the time, he knew.

  Then again, was it possible that Timothy had gone into the water with no intention of coming back out again?

  Conversation stopped while Jake took their orders. To Darian’s relief, he felt normal enough to consume food again. In fact, he felt especially hungry. Another side effect of stress and shock, no doubt. He couldn’t help noticing that Aaron ordered a hearty entrée as well. Patricia, Everett, and the newcomer, Quin, stuck to modest sandwich-and-soup combos, though Patricia suggested everyone share a couple of appetizer platters.

  “Jake’s stuffed mushroom caps are to die for,” she announced while Jake beamed with pride. “And the mozzarella sticks run a close second.”

  “Sounds good,” Quin decided for everyone. “Bring it on.”

  When Jake disappeared into the kitchen again, the inevitable topic resurfaced like Timothy’s motionless body among the dying lily pads. Patricia’s thoughts, Darian discovered, had been traveling down the same serpentine path as his own.

  “Could Timothy have committed suicide?” she asked, glancing around the table at each of them. “I mean, he seemed confident on the outside, but let’s face it. None of us really knew what was going on inside his mind. He could have had issues we never suspected.”

  “Depression’s not unusual among people that age,” Quin noted.

  “And he wasn’t doing a gap year because he’d been an exemplary student,” Everett said. “From what I understand, his old man forced him into it. Poor Timothy had no interest, and not much skill, in academics. Like Quin, his talents lay in a different direction.”

  Beside him, Aaron snatched up his coffee and hid his face behind the cup, though Darian saw the blush on his cheeks.

  “Are the police treating it as a suicide?” Quin asked, also watching Aaron with blatant cur
iosity.

  “I must tell you frankly that I suggested that when I talked to the sheriff this morning.” Everett gave a little snort. “It would only make sense to look into the possibility, I said. He gave me such an arrogant smirk that I wanted to slap him. Not that I would ever do such a thing, of course. I suspect I wouldn’t care much for prison. The libraries in such places are bound to be dreadful. Did he give you a hard time too, Darian?”

  “Not really,” Darian said, feeling a fresh surge of annoyance as he thought about his time in the office with Argo. He’d probably pulled that same homophobic crap on Everett. It wasn’t anything blatant enough to complain about. Just a little sneer here and there, a sly emphasis on certain words, a condescending tone. He and Everett would pick up on things their straight colleagues wouldn’t. “Aside from implying that I might have pushed him into the pond and held his head underwater.”

  A gasp rippled around the table. Quin recovered first. “I’m sure he didn’t mean that. But you really can’t blame him. He doesn’t know any of you, and cops have to investigate every angle before the trail goes cold and people’s memories fade. It’s standard procedure.”

  Patricia wore a guilty look. “I’m sorry to say it, but he did ask me a few questions about you, Darian,” she said, turning to him. “Nothing incriminating. Just how long you’d worked at the school, whether or not you knew Timothy, that kind of thing.”

  Darian’s stomach clenched. “He asked me the same stuff. No doubt he wanted to compare our answers to see if I was hiding anything.”

  “Oh, they always suspect the person who found the body.” Everett made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Anyone who reads mysteries can tell you that.”

  Quin regarded Darian with fresh interest. “Oh, did you find the body? How terrible for you.”

  “I was jogging,” Darian said without looking up from the table. “Or trying to, anyway. I didn’t get very far. I spotted him from the path. They had to know I didn’t do it. My sweatsuit wasn’t wet at all. How could I have dragged him into the pond?”

  “Well, yes, that’s a good point except for one thing,” Everett mused. “What if you…ahem…had taken off your clothing, too?”

  A stunned silence enveloped the group. Patricia cleared her throat.

  “Don’t worry,” Patricia said. “Our so-called sheriff was just entertaining himself at your expense. He probably got bored handing out parking tickets and harassing jaywalkers.”

  At last, Aaron spoke up. He seemed to be making an effort to keep his voice level. “The more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to agree with Patricia. Let’s face it. Timothy always had academic issues. Sure, he was clever enough—probably too clever for his own good in some ways—but he usually had his mind on other things.”

  “Easy to imagine what, given his age,” Everett said. “Really, if the police want suspects, they should focus on that circle of toadies and hangers-on he gathered around him. I’m convinced more than a few of them were fu—er, friends with benefits.” He glanced apologetically at Patricia, who didn’t seem at all offended.

  “At his age, that’s all they ever are.”

  “Don’t be too sure.” Quin directed a wistful gaze at the ceiling. “I remember young love. It’s stronger than you think, even if it isn’t always wise.”

  “Ah, the follies of youth,” Jake interrupted as he set down a large platter of mushroom caps and mozzarella sticks. “Sometimes they have tragic consequences.”

  “Don’t worry,” Quin said as he picked out a mushroom. “If another student is involved, one of them will crack under the pressure. They usually do.”

  When their meals arrived, everyone turned to their plates with obvious relief. While he wolfed down his tuna melt, Darian experienced a peculiar sensation that he was being watched. On the pretext of looking for something in his coat pocket, he swiveled in his chair and glanced at the restaurant’s plate-glass window.

  Argo Sullivan was standing on the sidewalk, pretending to study the menu taped to the window, but he was actually watching them. He didn’t bother to turn away when Darian’s eyes met his through the glass. Instead, Darian was sure he saw Sullivan’s upper lip curl into what could have been either a sneer or a smile. Then he moved on.

  Somewhat hastily, Darian finished his food. “I’ll see everyone later,” he said as he stood and tossed a twenty on the table. “I have some things I need to do this afternoon.”

  “Be sure to call one of us if you need to talk,” Patricia said as he shrugged on his jacket. “You’ve had quite a day. You must still be pretty shaken up.”

  “I’ll be all right, but thanks.”

  He was halfway to the spot where he had parallel-parked his car when Argo emerged from behind a curbside tree. He had removed his tie and stuffed it in the pocket of his blazer, to judge by the telltale bulge at his right side, and opened the top two buttons of his collar. Another catalog-worthy shot, Darian couldn’t help thinking. Neither of them bothered with a greeting.

  “You followed us,” Darian accused.

  “I was leaving the auditorium when I saw you and the others drive away in a line. I was curious where everyone was heading.”

  “Well, you’ve unraveled the great conspiracy. Soup and sandwiches. Oh yeah, and a few appetizers, just to be technically accurate.”

  “Thanks for the clarification. I’ll be sure to put that in my report.”

  “Glad to help.”

  Argo gestured toward a small park off to their left, where a few people sat on benches drinking coffee and munching on snacks. Two hipster types conversed beside a row of chained bicycles. An older woman in a blue beret sketched on an oversized pad. “Let’s walk a little. I want to talk to you.”

  Darian shrugged his agreement. They fell into step on the white sidewalk that wound through the peaceful space. On one side of the park rose the red brick courthouse, which looked much as it probably had in the nineteenth century. On the opposite side lay a similar building that, according to the sign outside, housed various municipal offices. Straight ahead, a small bridge crossed a stream that had no doubt played a more functional role when the town’s economy revolved around the brick textile mills that now stood abandoned in the distance.

  “I got the sense that I offended you this morning,” Argo said as they walked. “I was just fishing. Second nature to cops.”

  “Okay.” Darian assumed that Argo, frustrated by his refusal to confess, was now trying a different interrogation tactic. Still, the guy was a better actor than he would have expected.

  “You did the right thing, calling in the…uh…discovery and not interfering in the scene. The truth is, I’m uncomfortable around academics.”

  “Oh.” Darian forced a tight laugh. “Me too.”

  “I let some personal assumptions color my perception of what I saw up at Birchwood. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “It’s okay. From what I understand, the person who found the body is often involved in the death somehow. At least that’s what my mystery-reading colleague tells me.”

  “It probably sounds crazy to laypeople, but it’s true,” Argo said. “Sometimes the person feels guilty and wants to confess in a roundabout way. Other times, they think they can outwit the police and enjoy showing off their handiwork and seeing everyone’s reaction. And then there are some who don’t want the victim lying around undiscovered and unburied. Or sometimes it’s a combination of all those things.”

  “It kind of makes sense when you think about it,” Darian allowed. “Human nature being what it is and all.”

  “I guess teachers have a good sense of human psychology, just like cops do.”

  “True enough. We do have to unravel some pretty serious cases of plagiarism now and then.”

  They stepped onto the small bridge and paused by the wooden rail. A scattering of coins glinted in the shallow water beneath them. Argo scowled.

  “I wish people wouldn’t throw stuff in there. Pollutes the groundwater su
pply. And it tempts people who are in need of some spare change. I’ve fished more than one kid and a couple of vagrants out of there over the years. The current is stronger than they realize.”

  “Ah,” Darian said. He wasn’t sure what else to say, especially since he assumed Argo was still trying to trap him. He forced himself not to dwell on the image of Timothy’s corpse, bobbing like a cork among the spindly stalks of the aquatic weeds.

  “We’ve got Timothy’s laptop,” Argo announced next. “We’re going through it, looking for contacts or messages that might shed some light on what happened. After all, people post all kinds of stuff on social media these days.”

  The specter of an electronic suicide note drifted through Darian’s mind. Maybe the cops hadn’t discounted that option after all. “You know, I heard there was another drowning in that pond once. Years ago.”

  “Yes. Twenty. I know about it.” Argo’s mood darkened as quickly as a cloud drifting over the sun. He pushed away from the rail and stood back, clearly waiting for Darian to start walking again. Slowly, they fell back into step. “It was before my time here.”

  “A teacher, I heard. Older man. Slipped in the mud and couldn’t pull himself out. It sounds tragic.” Darian shuddered and saw an opportunity to protest his innocence. “Thinking about it freaks me out. Deep black water like that terrifies me.”

  “Really? Why do you jog around it then?”

  “The key word, Sheriff, is around it. I have no plans ever to go in it.”

  They walked on in silence. Argo seemed to be waiting for him to say something more. Every now and then, he stole a sideways glance at Darian. What was he hoping to see? Some kind of breakdown or confession? This whole friendly little walk began to seem surreal. Argo Sullivan was playing a game. Of that he had no doubt. Exactly what was the prize?

  Finally, they reached the edge of the park. A bike path wound its way through a wooded area on the other side of the stream. Two bright yellow poles planted in the ground at the entrance blocked larger vehicles from entering. Darian stopped and turned toward Argo.